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by VicesVsVirtues



Category: Julie and The Phantoms (TV)
Genre: Angst, Crying Luke, Family, Hurt, Luke's beating himself up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:53:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26780950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VicesVsVirtues/pseuds/VicesVsVirtues
Summary: Luke's first visit home.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 96





	Home

**Author's Note:**

> The two episodes that showed Luke visiting his parents both broke me and I needed to know more about his first time home, so I wrote it.
> 
> I hope you like it.

Twenty-five years… he’d been dead for twenty-five years. He was forty-one years old – the same age his dad was when he last saw him. The numbers made Luke’s brain hurt and he needed to try and work things out. Leaving Alex and Reggie in the studio, he poofed to the Orpheum.

It was starting to get dark and the queue outside the iconic venue was long and loud. Looking up, Luke read the name of the band playing that night.

_Green Day_

He had heard of them, was sure he had a CD of theirs somewhere in his stuff back at the studio. He vaguely remembered a picture of an explosion or something. Maybe he’d go inside and watch the gig and lose himself in the music for a while. It might help his thoughts shut down for a while.

As he stood by the entrance, which had just opened and was allowing ticket holders to enter, he smelled something. Following the familiar aroma, he moved to the side of the venue.

A young Hispanic guy was tending a small barrel drum style grill, the coals inside sizzling as the burgers cooked. It smelled better than the street dogs he and his friends had eaten that last night, but seeing it in the alleyway where the three of them died churned feelings he couldn’t quite recognize inside him. Without realizing it, he began to walk toward the grill where a queue of people waited for their food.

The old beat up couch was gone, replaced by metal tables and chairs allowing people to sit and enjoy their food. But Luke could still picture where the black, fake leather seat had been placed. The wall behind it had always been plastered in posters advertising bands, bright colors fighting for attention. Over the years, the layers had grown thicker and thicker until they began to peel and split, showing the history behind them. One such piece of faded history caught Luke’s eye and he took a step to have a closer look.

Half of his own face smiled out at him, the words not quite legible.

_Miing Pson.  
Lu Pson_

If his heart still had the power to beat, it would have skipped at least three as he stared at himself. If he could still breathe, it would have caught in his throat as he felt a tear roll down his cheek. A loud laugh drew his attention from the poster as two girls made their way along the alleyway to buy a burger.

Suddenly, the smell was too much and Luke poofed away. Only one block over, but, far enough away to get away from the memories assaulting him. As he walked along the street, not paying attention to where he was going or if anyone was in his way – it wasn’t as if he’d bump into them after all.

:: ::

The streetlights were bright as he wandered through the streets of downtown L.A. for hours until he reached the suburbs. For the first time since he and the guys had appeared in the studio, Luke was glad to be a ghost. He didn’t feel the cold that other pedestrians were bundled up against and his feet didn’t ache in his vans as they barely made contact with the sidewalk beneath them. But still he kept walking.

Yeah, he could have just poofed to wherever he was going, but he didn’t actually know where that was. For the first time in however long, he was just enjoying the freedom to walk anywhere he wanted, even if he didn’t have a final destination in mind.

At least he didn’t think he had. Until he turned onto a very familiar street, a street he hadn’t been on since… well, since before he’d died. He slowed his pace as he approached the house he’d grown up in. As he looked at the dark building he remembered the arguments, the screaming and shouting he’d done in an attempt to get his own way. He could also remember the happier time. His dad teaching him ride his bike along the road, his mom handing out candy at Halloween, and the house covered in Christmas lights.

Slowly, he approached the house even though there was no sign of life inside. Did they even still live there? Had they needed to move to somewhere new to escape the memories? Had they stayed, just in case he’d decided to return home all those years ago? How had they reacted when they found out about his death?

Standing on the porch, Luke took in a deep breath he didn’t need, but couldn’t associate the scent in the air with anything he could remember. That hurt. Had his memory been removed from the house? Maybe his parents _had_ left to go somewhere where they wouldn’t have the constant reminder of how much of a fuck up he was.

Steeling himself against what he might find, he moved through the solid front door inside the house with his eyes closed. Standing in the silence, it took Luke a few minutes to get the courage to open his eyes and looked around.

Photos of him as a baby were scattered around the room as they had been when he was growing up. A sense of relief washed over him. They were still here. And the house looked exactly the same.

Moving slowly, he went upstairs and stood outside his bedroom door. His privacy sign was still pinned to it along with a bunch of band stickers, including a couple of Sunset Curve ones. As he looked at the closed door, he could remember the exact time he was last on the other side of it; the night he left home for the last time. After an exceptionally horrible argument with his mom, he’d shoved as many clothes as he could into a backpack, grabbed his guitar and journal, and just left. Took his bike, rode over to Alex’s house without looking back as his mom screamed out his name. Taking another deep breath, he walked through the door into the room that had been his sanctuary for so long.

Nothing had changed. Yeah, it was tidier because there wasn’t a huge pile of dirty laundry strewn across the floor, but everything was the same. The posters on the walls, photos of Sunset Curve on stage in crappy backstreet clubs, and tickets to gigs he’d gone to with his friends. Luke stood in the center of his room and looked around the space. More tears rolled down his eyes as he realized his parents had had hope for so long, hope he’d grow up and come back. Hope until it was too late.

Leaving his room, he stuck his head through the door to his parent’s bedroom. Both of them were fast asleep, but his mom’s face was contorted as if in pain. Emotion got the best of him and he scrambled to leave the house, materializing back on the porch without even realizing he’d done it.

He’d cause this. Their pain, their seeming inability to move on. He’d been a complete fuck up then, and still was now. Turning his back on the house, he walked back to the street and walked away without looking back as tears streamed down his face.

He didn’t know if he’d go back, didn’t knew if he had the nerve to. All he did know was that he wasn’t going to tell his friends about this visit. He knew they’d understand, they’d been with him every step of the way, including death, but he didn’t want to see pity on their faces. Not when it was all his damn fault.


End file.
